


In the Service of the Queen

by Magnetism_bind



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Affairs, Angst, F/M, Friendship, Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 10:51:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1302184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few brief glimpses into Aramis's affair with the queen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Service of the Queen

The musketeers are, above all else, the king’s men. But this doesn't mean they are in any way naïve about the character of the man they serve. Louis is vain and haughty, true, easily swayed by duplicitous men. For all of that, he is still their king. But in serving the king, the musketeers also serve the queen.

Perhaps this is why they guard her secret. Or perhaps it is the desire to protect their friend. As much as they considered dissuading Aramis from the risk, they had all known it was inevitable from that first glance.

*  *  *

“Where is Aramis?” Treville calls impatiently from his balcony, looking down at them.

“He’ll be along in a moment.” Athos lies with a well-practiced tongue. Of all the others he alone knows the true dangers of love. He also remembers the allure of that passion. The desire of a queen must be a heady bouquet indeed.

Treville is not placated. “I want you all in my office in five minutes, with or without him.” He disappears inside.

Athos sighs.

“You were late again.” He murmurs when Aramis finally appears in the courtyard.

Aramis salutes him. “My apologies.”

He smells like the queen’s bedchamber, the faint scent of roses clinging to his skin. His curls are tousled beneath his hat, and there, underneath the turn of his collar is a mark left by a passionate woman.

Athos can’t decide if he is impressed or appalled at the thought of the queen doing that. He puts the thought aside. “Treville notices. Take more care.”

*  *  *

 _Take more care._ It makes Porthos wants to laugh until he roars. They have seen Aramis through all manner of love affairs but this is the one that will cost him his head. If they’re discovered together, if he’s ever discovered leaving her. If fate conspires even the slightest bit against them, this will all end terribly.

“You’re a fool.” He tells Aramis when they’re making their way to the palace.

“Perhaps.” Aramis is cheerful about it. “Have you never been in love, Porthos?”

“I like being alive too much.” Porthos grumbles.

“And what is life without love?”

 *  *  *

Athos waits with the horses at the gate to the garden. His hat is pulled down low, his face discreetly turned away, but he still sees the embrace the queen gives Aramis at the door. The way Aramis holds her, his hands precise and sure around her waist. Athos sees this and fears his friend is falling too deeply in love this time. The fear blossoming in his chest is unexpected.

Anne catches sight of him over Aramis's shoulder. Athos quickly looks away.

At the next parade she draws a little aside, standing beside Athos as she gazes at the display across the promenade.

“I know the danger,” she pauses, “I’ve thought of giving him up, but I love him too dearly.” Her eyes search Athos’s face, and strangely he finds himself wanting to reassure her somehow. 

“I understand, your majesty.”

“If ever it grows too dangerous, if ever his life is truly in danger, do you promise to tell me?”

“And what will you do then?” Athos is gentle.

“Then, I will give him up.”

He wants to tell her it’s already dangerous for Aramis. Sooner or later someone will connect the musketeer’s absences to the queen’s, but instead he bows and promises he will tell her. She is his queen after all, and a promise is all he can offer her.

*  *  *

It is D’Artagnan who doesn’t understand the way of it. “It’s the queen. She’s married to the king.” It’s early evening and they’re waiting once again for Aramis to join them.

“That is how these things usually work.” Athos observes.

“But how can he?”

“Very easily I imagine.” Porthos says. “Aramis has always pursued ladies above his station. Remember that duchess?” He shudders at the memory.

Athos regards D’Artagnan thoughtfully. “Do you consider the king a good man?”

“Well?” D’Artagnan hadn’t really given it much thought. The king is merely the king. How can he be other?

“Do you think he takes no mistresses?”

“Yes, but,” D’Artagnan fumbles there. It’s not his place to question the king’s choices.

Athos leans in. His eyes are steady upon their young friend. “Would you deny the queen that same happiness?”

“I don’t want to deny the queen anything, but I-” D’Artagnan sighs. It does seem rather unfair that the king is allowed lovers while the queen is supposed to abstain from such things. At times he misses Gascony.

“It’s all right.” Athos clasps his shoulder. “Regardless of whether we approve or not, this is the way things are. In any event, rest assured that Aramis can handle himself in this respect.”

“It’s probably not even his first queen.” Porthos puts in.

Athos scratches at his chin. “Do you remember the countess who used to send him that wretched poetry? Never fall in love with a poet, D’Artagnan. It's an abysmal business."

“I’ll do my best.” D’Artagnan says. He has no interest in poets anyways.

*  *  *

He loves her. He wears her cross close to his heart at all times, a constant reminder of her love. It was given out of gratitude at first, but now that he’s kissed her, and held her in his arms, Aramis knows the queen loves him.

Her hands are small against his. Every touch of hers, intimate and daring, is a delight to his soul. When he’s in Anne’s arms, Aramis knows why he fights. For his friends, for his country, yes, but for this too. The secret merry smile given to him in the privacy of her bedchamber. The permission, joyously granted, to touch her silken skin. The feel of her mouth upon his, leaving him deliriously content.

Aramis knows the risks. It’s not that he discounts them, or pretends they do not exist. It’s simply that to him, the danger is worth it. To lie with the queen, and hear his name upon her lips. To catch her eye across a room, and know that she is thinking of him. There is no question of it. He would die a hundred deaths for one smile from her, and she gives it to him freely. 

*  *  *

In public Anne is Louis’s queen. Before the eyes of God, before all of France that is her role. In private, she belongs to Aramis. That is enough. 


End file.
